


It Goes Up and Down

by Ewebie



Series: Tumblr Shorts [28]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Did you hear the one about the elevator..., M/M, This is all Fleur's fault, This takes place at the start... but like... you'll get it, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr Shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 12:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12342657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: Because Fleur double-tagged me in this:We take the same elevator every day and due to a misunderstanding, I assumed you didn’t speak English and I’ve been talking to my friend about how hot you are for three weeks and apparently my friend has known from the start but you agreed not to tell me bc you both think it’s hilarious what the fuck AUGreg Lestrade had never particularly been looking for a partner in crime. Not exactly, per se. Certainly not for crime. But it was nice to have a mate. A normal bloke that he could have a pint with. That he could sigh with, roll his eyes, mourn the latest loss of his team. And more than anything, he now had a laddish friend that knew what it was like to deal with Sherlock Holmes. And that John Watson could wrangle Sherlock in the midst of his worst tirades and corral him into productive and semi-civilized interactions and still be normal… Well. Normal-ish. Normal enough. Amenable. Uh… Good-natured. Weird enough to throw in with Sherlock, but he knew his way around the rugby pitch and the good, nearby pubs.





	It Goes Up and Down

**Author's Note:**

> Did you hear the one about the elevator?

Greg Lestrade had never particularly been looking for a partner in crime. Not exactly, per se. Certainly not for crime. But it was nice to have a mate. A normal bloke that he could have a pint with. That he could sigh with, roll his eyes, mourn the latest loss of his team. And more than anything, he now had a laddish friend that knew what it was like to deal with Sherlock Holmes. And that John Watson could wrangle Sherlock in the midst of his worst tirades and corral him into productive and semi-civilized interactions and still be normal… Well. Normal-ish. Normal enough. Amenable. Uh… Good-natured. Weird enough to throw in with Sherlock, but he knew his way around the rugby pitch and the good, nearby pubs.

John Watson also had, Sherlock Holmes notwithstanding, good taste in people. Sherlock Holmes withstanding, a certain appreciation for aesthetic. And Greg could relate to that as well. And it was nice to have a brother-in-arms outside of the circle of the Met.

“Oi, you’re not even listening to me,” John shook his head. “If I wanted to talk to a brick wall, I’d just go home. Well used to being ignored there.”

Greg grinned. “You musn’t be that ignored. Why else bother?”

“Not you too,” John poked a finger at him. “It’s bad enough when your underlings up and imply it, I won’t have it ruin a good pint.”

Greg held up his hands, “Alright, alright. How’d that date with Kristy? Yeah, Kristy go?”

John flashed a two-finger salute.

“That good?”

“Probably would have been better if you hadn’t called to let me know that Sherlock was dangling from halfway up a tree, in the middle of Hyde Park,” John muttered into his pint.

Greg choked out a laugh. “I did say balancing, not dangling.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Mmn,” Greg agreed, taking a long swig from his glass.

“How did dinner with Lucy go?”

Greg winced and kept drinking.

It was John’s turn to laugh. “We really need to get you a new girlfriend, mate.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Boyfriend, then?” John gave a rather wolfish smile. “You know, Sherlock has a brother.”

“Bite your tongue!”

~

“So… You left Sherlock in your office?” John lengthened his stride to keep up. “Alone?”

“It was that or let him loose on Anderson again.” Greg made a sound of desperation and punched the elevator button a few extra times for good measure. “What was I thinking?”

“We could take the stairs?” John offered.

“Shut it,” he growled back, glaring at John. He started forward as the doors pinged open, blindly colliding with someone stepping off the lift. “Sorry,” he held up his hands and side-stepped, shuffling in while keeping an eye on the man he’d just crashed into.

“Di niente.” He straightened his shoulders and adjusted his grip on the umbrella, walking purposefully for the main door.

John punched the button for Greg’s floor and the doors slid shut. “Alright?”

“Hm?” Greg glanced over at John and eyed the smirk on his face. “Yeah. Fine. I’m fine. Did that sound like Italian to you?”

John’s smirk bloomed into a grin. “Did what sound like Italian?”

“I… Nothing.”

“I know it certainly  _ looked _ like you were enjoying the view.”

“Shut up.” Greg couldn’t help the slight blush that colored his cheeks.

“Well treasure that pleasant thought. Sherlock’s had ten unsupervised minutes in your office. Lord only knows what he’s managed.”

“Ugh!”

~

“Well that was pointless,” John muttered.

“Oi, it’s not my fault that you’re allergic to technology,” Greg hissed at him.

“I’m not allergic!” John snapped. “It’s… Computers just hate me, alright.”

Greg huffed out a laugh. “How long do you think he’ll be working on that one?”

“Christ knows.” John crossed his arms and glared at the elevator doors. “Think it’s safe to let him alone on the chairman’s computer?”

“Would you know if he was doing something naughty if you stayed?”

“No,” John said glumly. “He was pretty clear with those marching orders anyway.” The elevator chimed as the doors opened smoothly. And John stiffened at the sight of the lone occupant. Greg walked in, so John shook himself and slid into the far corner of the car. The man continued his phone conversation as though neither of them had entered.

Greg leaned over and whispered, “Is that Japanese?”

John shrugged with his whole body.

“Huh,” Greg glanced back. “First Italian, now Japanese. I wonder if he speaks English.”

John grimaced.

“Sayōnara.” The man disconnected the line.

“Definitely Japanese,” Greg hummed.

“Please stop,” John mumbled.

As the elevator reached the ground floor, Greg swept out a hand, gesturing for the man to leave first. He was granted a rather startled look, a quick nod, and a hushed, “Arigatōgozaimashita.”

“You’re embarrassing,” John shook his head as they finally stepped out of the lift.

“You’re the one who keeps having a go at my dating life.”

“Yeah, because you flirt with random strange men on elevators.”

“It’s not random,” Greg protested with a smile. “That’s the second time I’ve bumped into him.”

“Yeah, and not introducing yourself will go a long way.”

“Well I don’t know that he speaks English,” Greg pointed out.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s certainly not stopping you from ogling as he walks away.”

“He does have a nice arse.”

John coughed out a sound of derision. “Stop.”

~

“What's the worst that could happen? That's what you asked, wasn't it?”

John adjusted the ice-pack against the back of his head and frowned. “If me getting a bump on my head and Sherlock adding a chipped tooth to his list of scars in the pursuit of justice are the worst that happened, I really don't feel sorry.”

“I consider the injuries to the kidnappers on the list.”

John shrugged. “They'll live.”

Greg threw up his hands in exasperation. “You two are taking years off my life. One of these days, I’m going to have a massive heart attack.”

“That'd be counterproductive,” John flashed a small grin.

“You’re terrible. What is this building anyway?”

“You didn't think Sherlock would have a public dentist like the rest of the riff-raff?” John punched the button for the elevator.

Greg’s face pinched. “This is a dentist’s office?”

“Well, not the whole building,” John offered, stepping into the elevator. “Just the…” He trailed off as someone followed them into the car.

“Non, c'est tout fait bien.”

Greg grinned as the man settled in the middle of the small space, facing forward. He raised his brows at John, who just shook his head and punched the button for the third floor.

“C'est assez.”

_ French _ , Greg mouthed and wiggled his brows at John. 

John hung his head, clutched the ice-pack tighter, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  _ Don’t. _

“Oui. Oui, oui, 'à demain.” The phone line was disconnected, and a low, muttered, “imbécile,” could be heard in the elevator.

It slowed to a stop, and John breathed a sharp, “Oh, thank God.” And darted out the doors as they were still opening.

Greg cleared his throat, straightened his jacket, and brushed past the man. “Au Revoir,” he grinned and winked as the doors slid shut. Chuffed with himself, he turned to follow John, pulling up short at the look of disapproval that met him. “What?”

“You’re incorrigible, that’s what you are.”

“I actually speak French,” Greg gave him a lopsided smile.

“Do you want me to tell you all the reasons why that flirting is a bad idea?”

“Don’t be a downer.” Greg waved him off. “You’re the one that wanted to find me a boyfriend. Some wingman you are.”

“I am going to remind you of this sometime soon.”

“You do that.” Greg clapped him on the shoulder and headed down the hallway.

“God, I’ve a headache.”

“Could’ve been worse!” Greg called.

~

John crammed his hands into his jacket pockets and blew out his cheeks. “Right, so. You keep on point so we can get out of here sooner rather than later, yeah?”

Sherlock made a noise that was neither affirmative or negative.

“Oi, no.” John glared up at him. “I’ve been awake for nearly forty-eight hours. I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m pretty sure my socks are still wet. And if you can just be polite for five fucking minutes, we can go home. And I can shower. And put on dry clothes. And take a sodding nap.”

Sherlock sighed. “I shall endeavour to persevere.”

John winced. “I will leave you here.”

The elevator reached the lobby and the doors slid open to find Greg chatting with the same man he’d been running into for the past few weeks. Sherlock stiffened, pulling up into achingly upright posture.

“C'était un plaisir,” the man said, a polite smile on his face.

“À un de ces quatre,” Greg gave a friendly nod, the broad smile on his face melting away at the sight of Sherlock and John standing in the lobby. “Oi, you two. Upstairs, now.”

Sherlock’s face pinched into a look of disgust. “John…”

John shook his head. “Five minutes, remember?”

“But, John,” Sherlock complained, following him into the elevator and edging as far from Lestrade as possible.

John sucked his lower lip between his teeth to hide a smile. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

Greg raised a brow at the pair of them. “What’s the problem.”

Sherlock eyed him cautiously before making a sound of disgust. “Really, Graham.”

A single huff managed to escape John. “We haven’t slept.”

Greg frowned. “Doesn’t excuse you being stranger than normal.”

John shrugged. “No problem.”

Sherlock made a squawk of displeasure.

“Oi, wipe that look off your face,” Greg shook a finger at him as the elevator stopped again. “I spent four hours wading through muck because of you.”

“Could do worse,” John said innocently.

“John!” Sherlock snapped.

~

Greg let out a long suffering sigh. “What did you do to get us all dragged down here to Whitehall?”

John shrugged. “Wasn’t me. I’ve been at work.”

“Let me rephrase. What did Sherlock do? And where the bloody hell is he?” Greg glanced around John as if he was somehow hiding. “The least he could do is be here for the bollocking we know he probably deserves.”

John shook his head. “Honestly, I’ve no idea. But yeah. I’m not walking into something without him.”

“Do you even know who we’re supposed to be meeting,” Greg asked absently, scanning the large lobby.

John’s face pulled in confusion. “You don’t even know who you’re here for?”

“We,” Greg corrected. “And all I know is the DCI stormed in and started yelling and sent me here to get yelled at some more.” He sank back into the chair in frustration.

John closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Is there a case on or something?”

Greg held his hands out. “If there were, I’d have called. Maybe…”

When he trailed off, John frowned, following his line of sight across the entryway. “Oh, Greg, no.”

“What? I can’t look?”

“Greg, believe me when I say…”

“Because every time I see that man, he is dressed to the nines.”

“You don’t want…”

“And he has an amazing arse.”

“Oh God, you went there.”

“You have eyes John; bloody look at him. If he was English, I’d think he’s related to Sherlock or something.”

A desperate, high-pitched laugh erupted out of John.

“Even if it were just a shag, it’d be a sodding good one, I’m sure.”

“Greg!” John squeaked. “For the love of God, he can probably hear you!”

“So,” Greg shrugged. “It’s English.”

John opened his mouth to object, but no sound seemed to come.

“And even if he did hear me, I’m not sure pert arse translates into French easily.”

A polite and soft throat clearing interrupted the conversation. 

Greg flushed and smiled up at the man. “Ah. Ça va?”

“Bonjour.”

“Jesus,” John buried his face in his hand.

“Doctor Watson,” the man gave John a formal, but polite nod.

He gave a weak wave. “Mycroft.”

“Wait.” Greg glanced at John. “Wait, wait. You know him?”

John forced a smile, “Remember when I said it was a bad idea?”

“So…” Greg gestured at Mycroft.

John waved a hand back and forth. “Greg, Mycroft; Mycroft, Greg.”

“Detective Inspector,” Mycroft nodded.

“Oh,” Greg blushed. “Oh God. You…”

John sighed. “He’s who we’re meeting, most likely, definitely.”

“I…” Greg shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “I didn’t… Are you with the Met then?”

“I am not. I am, however, surprised - which is rare, I assure you. I had no idea you had such appreciation for drapery, Detective Inspector.”

John snorted.

“Well-I-uh… I…”

“If you are so enamoured with the cut, I can easily refer you to my tailor.”

John giggled.

“Shut it,” Greg growled. “How do you even…”

“Oh, God. Sorry,” John’s giggles developed into outright laughter. “Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes. As in Sherlock’s brother.”

Mycroft frowned at John. “Is that really necessary, Dr. Watson?”

John caught himself and blinked up at Mycroft. “We’re speaking English now?”

Mycroft blushed. 

Greg turned red.

“Well this is lovely and a complete waste of my…” Sherlock pulled up short, “... time. John?”

John clapped his hands against his thighs and pushed to stand. “Now that that’s sorted, I’m off.”

“John, what’s going on?” Sherlock shot a confused look at Mycroft and Lestrade.

“Things you don’t want to know, Sherlock,” John steered him towards the door.

“Why are they just sitting there?”

“They aren’t. They’re also uncomfortably silent.”

“But why?”

John grinned up at him, “How good is your French, Sherlock?”

“Impeccable, why?”

“How would you translate ‘pert arse’?”

“What?!”

John burst out laughing, and the pair across the lobby flushed red again.

**Author's Note:**

> ... it goes up and down.


End file.
